Anticlimactic
by NotLaura
Summary: She can't remember the last time she found release. Before the end of the world, surely.
1. Five Times Carol Didn't Get Off

**Anti-Climactic**

 _(or: Five times Carol didn't get off)_

 **1 – Showerhead**

When it's her turn to use one of the CDC showers, Carol wastes no time in locking the door, stripping down, and stepping into the spray.

The water is lukewarm at best, but it feels so good cascading over her body that she wouldn't have cared even if it had been chilly. At first, she just stands under the water, letting the dirt and grime and sweat of being out there slowly rinse from her body.

It's murky and brown and flecked with blood when it swirls around her feet before washing down the drain.

More than just the traces of camping, Carol washes her skin of Ed. His last touches, his last bruises. She stands under the spray of the water and washes away every last thing he did to her body, and even before she reaches for the body wash, Carol feels _clean._

The world was most likely ending, and she was god knows how many feet underground, and even the pang of fear in her chest at _that_ gives way to an overwhelming sense of joy to just feel like her own person again. Like a woman, not a possession.

She picks up the half-empty body wash and examines the label. It's a grocery store brand, claiming the scent of roses and when she pops the lid and takes a sniff the smell is almost overwhelmingly floral. She's grinning like a fool when she pours some onto her hand and sets about making a frothy lather.

Ed never let her use bath products that smelled so strongly and despite the nagging in the back of her head that tells her it's vaguely reminiscent of a grandma's perfume, Carol inhales deeply as the scent begins to fill the steamy shower stall. She scrubs at her skin, smirking at the thought of the half-used bar of unscented soap that sits in her shower back home.

Even with the cooling water, the shower feels sinfully decadent and by the time Carol brings her hands to her breasts she's not surprised at the involuntary shiver that passes through her. Circling her nipples with her fingers, she feels a distinct throbbing between her legs that make its presence known.

It's been so long since she's felt remotely sexual.

The unexpected rush of pleasure as she continues to lightly massage her breasts makes Carol a little giddy. She's allowed this, now. There's no fear of a husband returning home and disciplining her for daring to explore her own body no shame that her thoughts drift to the bodies of men she's not married to.

For the first time in more than a decade, Carol lets her mind wander.

At first, the mostly faceless bodies of the men from her soap operas drift through her mind. All hard muscles and chiseled abs and perfect hair and everything she has never felt beneath her own fingers. She imagines being swept off her feet, imagines romance and passion and tenderness in the way the man of her dreams touches her. Confident, yet full of love...

She's worked a hand between her thighs now, her lower lip caught in her teeth as she nervously circles her clit. It's a little bit awkward, like it hasn't mattered in so long that she's forgotten how she likes to be touched. The water continues to wash over her body and for a moment, Carol flickers her glance up at the showerhead, wondering if it detaches...

The fleeting thought brings with it a rush of shame and she draws her hand from between her legs. It's the end of the world, she has no business trying to pleasure herself with a showerhead! She's not some young girl, thinking only with her sex drive, she is a _mother_.

Ignoring the hot flush that stains her cheeks, Carol quickly rinses off and steps out of the shower to don her pajamas. She should go check on Sophia, who's in the games room with Carl, and see if the kids want a bedtime story.

Ed may be gone, but she still has a place, still has a role.

What had she been thinking?

 **2 – Motorcycle**

It's the first reasonably warm day they've had since winter set in and they pack up the campsite first thing in the morning. There's no destination in mind, there never is, just the constant search for safety. Security. Food. Still, the break in the chill of winter and the sun shining down on them is enough to rouse even the grumpiest spirits and Carol smiles while she stows her pack in the back of the vehicle.

She hadn't noticed him approach, so Daryl startles her when he clears his throat and she turns to find him right behind her. He's straddling his bike, though he hasn't bothered to turn it on yet. Wordlessly, he inclines his head slightly towards the seat and it takes Carol a moment to realize what he's asking.

She hasn't ridden on the back of the bike since winter set in. Truthfully, she wasn't sure she had even been welcome doing so before that, but the exhilaration of the open air and the wall of solid muscle that was Daryl's back against her chest had been incentive enough to pretend she didn't see his frowns and just climb on without a word.

Maybe she hadn't been as unwelcome as she'd thought?

Lori nudges her in the ribs gently, pushing her towards the motorcycle and it's all the permission Carol needs to climb on behind him and settle her arms around Daryl's waist gently. They're off moments later, and the force of speed makes her feel a little bit like she's being sucked away. She presses tighter and rests her cheek against his shoulder blade and grins, feeling happier than she has all winter.

They ride all morning, out front of the group, and there's something so nice about the fact she can't hear anything except for the roar of the motorcycle. She doesn't need to watch out for Carl, doesn't need to worry about Beth or try and keep the peace between Lori and Rick. All Carol needs to do is focus on how strong Daryl's shoulders are beneath his poncho and how solid his hips feel between her thighs.

She shifts slightly to adjust her position just as he revs the engine and the vibration of the bike catches her _just right_ and Carol's fingers tighten against Daryl's side at the rush of pleasure.

Her face feels instantly heated and it's an effort not to shift again, not to grind herself against the thrilling feeling of the motorcycle vibrating. She's mortified at the thought that Daryl might know what happened, that she's... she's _getting off_ from the feel of his bike and, wow, is she really that hard up for a good time that she's allowing something so-

He revs again as they head down a stretch of freeway that somehow isn't blocked and Carol nearly gasps at the friction between her panties and the throbbing between her legs.

Daryl seems to sense something, and he pulls back on the speed a bit. Carol tries to conjure up every arousal-killing mental image she can as she wills the color out of her cheeks. He pulls the bike to a stop at Rick's signal from behind them and Carol all but leaps off of it as soon as they're stopped.

"You okay?" Daryl's looking at her, his hair windblown and his voice reaching right into her body and tugging on something primal.

"Mm hmm," Carol nods a little too quickly before heading towards the next vehicle, where Carl is helping his mother climb out and Rick is headed towards Daryl to discuss their next moves. She leans against the car beside Lori wordlessly, but her pregnant friend takes one look at the blush coloring her cheeks and raises an eyebrow.

"Have a good ride?"

Carol's face flames.

 **3 – Fingers**

It's the middle of the night when Carol strips off her clothes, pulls on her pajamas, and flops gracelessly onto her bunk.

She just feels _good_ , and that feeling has become the new normal. Sure, she'd just come back from a late watch shift and it was the middle of the night, but she's got a bed under her back and a roof over her head and, thanks to the deer Daryl had brought in, food in her belly.

The look on his face when he'd come in with his latest bounty is going to stay burned in her memory for a long time, Carol is sure of it. She'd been talking to Karen near the kitchen when the commotion started, the happy sounds of laughter and whoops of delight as Daryl returned from his hunt, dragging a deer that seemed almost unnaturally plump and crouching down to examine it once he was safe behind the gate.

It wasn't the thought of dinner that had Carol's blood stirring, though.

The sun gleamed off his biceps and his hair was pushed off his forehead with sweat. As Glenn and some others took his kill off to be dealt with, Carol had watched in silent fascination as Daryl stood up from his crouch and pulled the crossbow off his back in a way that stretched his shoulders absolutely sinfully. And the way he walked towards her? There was a swagger there that made Carol feel a little weak in the knees.

He'd said something to her about the deer, his chest all but puffed with pride, and she ached both to press herself against his hard body and to be the one to put such a look of confidence on his face. She'd managed to control herself enough for a quick conversation about preparing dinner, and ignored the giggle she swore she heard from Karen. Daryl had nodded, announcing that he was going to go get cleaned up and if his walk towards her had been confident, his walk away was all but a strut.

She'd needed to fan herself lightly and just shrugged when Karen's laughter intensified.

Now, hours later and in the dark of night, she can feel herself getting flushed just thinking about it again. She's found Daryl attractive for a long time, has done her share of imagining them together, but she's never felt herself as overwhelmed by lust as she had that afternoon.

She's wet just remembering it.

For a moment, Carol debates with herself. It's probably a little bit wrong to think such openly sexual thoughts about him, and more than a little disrespectful... But she isn't stupid, she knows something is slowly brewing between them. She's seen him blush and look away on more than one occasion when she bent down to retrieve something or stretched her arms above her head. She's certain he's gotten at least a little hard at the sight of her body more than once.

Rationalization done, Carol all but kicks the thin sheet off her legs and shimmies out of the shorts she wears to bed. Her panties are threadbare and too loose to be remotely seductive, but she keeps them on, too practical to get completely naked when there's still a chance of danger. Situating herself on her back, she plants her feet on the mattress, knees parted. Her hand trembles as she slides it down her stomach, past the elastic barrier, and lightly strokes her clit with her fingertips.

Closing her eyes, she shifts her hips to get comfortable and starts gently rubbing herself while imagining Daryl. Not just the way he looked today, puffed and proud and daring, but the shy smiles he saved just for her and the dryness of his humor. His broad shoulders and narrow hips feature too, and Carol wonders how his scraggly beard would feel against her breasts.

Biting her lip, she increases the pressure, everything inside of her tightening incrementally as she circles her clit. Every touch Daryl ever gave her seems to race through her mind, every time she's felt the strength of his muscles under his skin and soon all she could imagine was the sounds he made when he was working in the yard. Every grunt and growl taking on a new, positively _lewd_ connotation in her mind and Carol brings her other hand down, slipping two fingers into herself easily and grinding her hips against her hands.

Fuck, she feels close.

She can't remember the last time she found release. Before the end of the world, surely, as even the safety of the prison hasn't leant her the kind of privacy she needed to feel truly comfortable with this type of wanton act. As the Daryl in her mind works her to a frenzy with his hands and his mouth and his cock, Carol bites her lip but can't stop a soft groan from slipping out.

She freezes at the sound, her fingers still buried inside herself but now her muscles are tense in an entirely different way. What if someone heard her? What if _Daryl_ heard her?

In another cell, someone coughs.

Mindful of the telltale sound of her own wetness, Carol pulls her fingers out and lowers her knees with a sigh. She'd been on the edge of an orgasm, she just knows it. A few more flicks of her wrist is all it would have taken and she's gone and worried herself right out of it at the possibility of being caught.

Annoyed at her own neurosis and aggravated at the fact frustration still throbs between her legs, Carol pulls her shorts back on and rolls to her side. She has breakfast duty in the morning, and then there's a crew going for a run that Daryl and Sasha had scouted, but maybe when they're back she can find some time with him, can see if his confident mood lasted the night.

Maybe tomorrow she'll change things.

 **4 – Vibrator**

Safe in the privacy of her own bedroom, in her own house, Carol draws the curtains closed to block out the waning light of evening. Alexandria was never entirely quiet, but since things had settled and the group had spread out, she finally feels like she has room to _breathe._

It's strange, being on her own. She'd never lived this way, not really. She'd lived with her parents until she was married and even when he wasn't home, Ed's presence had hovered over every room of their house. Now, in this small house, Carol has a place to call hers. Her kitchen. Her bathroom. Her bedroom.

And burning a hole in the drawer of her nightstand, her vibrator.

She never had one before, despite the joke she made to Andrea a million years ago at the 'd thought about it, of course, but it hadn't been worth the risk of Ed discovering it. So when Olivia had sent her into one of the store rooms marked to contain items for "women's needs", Carol had been shocked to see a small collection of battery powered devices.

Not too shocked to select a modest sized one and slip it into the basket she'd been filling in preparation for moving into her own space.

That had been three weeks ago and somehow Carol has gotten it into her mind that this evening she will try it out.

Nobody is around who could possibly need her. Daryl's been out on a run for three days, and the safe zone's school is putting on some kind of pageant she doesn't want to attend. With the knowledge that she will be left uninterrupted to work out her frustration, Carol strips off her clothes and sits on the side of her bed. Opening her nightstand drawer, she takes out the blue silicone, still in its package and proudly announcing that two AAA batteries are included.

It's wasteful, when working batteries are such a commodity, but as she opens the plastic and sets about loading them into the device she can already feel anticipation building for the orgasm she just... really, desperately needs.

It's been _years_ and she's tired of feeling nothing but pain.

Once the toy is prepared and she's tested it's speeds, Carol lays back on her pillows and closes her eyes. She won't think of Daryl, not now, not when they've become so distant that she doesn't remember the last time he'd touched her at all, let alone caused that spark to generate between them. Instead, she focuses on the sensations themselves as she rubs herself and feels the familiar ache start forming and wetness coat her fingers. There's almost a numbness to it as she works herself up, then takes the vibrating device and presses it against her.

It's strange, as she pushes it into her waiting wetness and draws it out again. It's more substantial than her fingers, but the vibration doesn't seem to add anything and after several minutes of pumping herself with it, Carol doesn't feel any closer to release.

Frustrated, she sits up and lets the base of the vibrator brush against her clit. _That_ definitely does something and she settles back again, ignoring penetration in favor of stimulating herself another way. Her thighs clench together as she rocks her hips against the toy, but even that pressure is just slightly off, just a hair too light, just...

She rolls to her stomach, beyond caring as she positions a pillow between her legs, pressing the vibrating silicone to the bundle of nerves between her legs and everything is narrowing to a very specific point. She knows it's a little ridiculous, to be writhing against her pillow in search of orgasm, but the vibrations are catching her just right and she's gasping and groaning with abandon. She grinds down, the humming of the toy drowned out by her own sounds and she can feel everything about to snap, can feel the edge rushing up and knows that she's _finally_ going to get her release and-

The vibrations stop suddenly and Carol can't help but buck her hips against the dormant device in frustration. She rolls over again, extracting it and pressing the button almost desperately, trying to resume the motions that were doing wonders for her.

Nothing happens.

The batteries, which are off-brand and a few years out of date, have no more juice in them and Carol throws the vibrator at the carpet in annoyance, collapsing on her back and staring at the ceiling.

Of course.

 **5 – Daryl**

His mouth is on hers and Carol can't help the explosion of joy and need and love and _yes_ that comes out as she returns his desperate kiss. It's early in the morning, the sun is barely up, and when she'd opened her door in her pajamas and bathrobe she hadn't expected to find Daryl there, a look of determination on his face.

He'd pushed into her space and told her everything with a look. He was tired of pretending, he loves her, he can't stand not seeing her every day he's here, not coming home to her. Like that, the distance that had been growing between them disappears and they're making out on her living room couch like teenagers. He kisses with too much tongue but there isn't a thing she'd change, as every last bit of nervousness between them seems to melt away as they strip off each other's clothes.

Like that, they're naked and she's already soaked and needy just from his mouth and the feel of his erection pressing against her. Daryl presses her on her back, against the arm of the couch and raises her head to meet her eyes. There's a question hovering there and before any trace of doubt can creep between them, Carol reaches down and closes her hand around him, stroking him and murmuring that she can't wait any longer, that she's ready.

He groans at her boldness and she pulls her hand back, helping him line up and then he pushes inside of her and Carol gasps at the all consuming fullness she feels. He's hard inside of her and she swears she can feel him throbbing against her sensitive flesh.

"Fuck. Carol." His voice is strained and there's a note of awe in it, as he buries his face in her neck and starts to move.

There's no real rhythm to it, the couch not really allowing for much leverage and she can only get one of her legs up and around his hip but the friction is exquisite. She can't stifle her breathy moans and Daryl's breath is hot on her throat as he groans through each thrust.

An hour ago shethought the most exciting part of her day would be trying a new recipe at dinner, and now Daryl is in love with her, is fucking her against her couch. She palms her own breast, tweaking the nipple and his hips stutter when he notices the movement.

"Fuck," he repeats, and then he's sucking on the juncture of her shoulder and her neck and Carol feels that familiar tension rushing up.

"Yes," she encourages him, digging her heel into his back and urging him faster, harder. "Daryl," his name slips out, more of a moan than anything else and he just thrusts harder, those groans that had gotten her so close at the prison coming out against her ears.

She's getting there, the pressure of his dick inside of her and the delightful sting where he sucks at her neck coming together in sensations Carol didn't even know were possible during sex. But just like that, what little rhythm he found falters and he pumps his hips erratically a few times, crying out with his own climax.

Carol thrusts against him, trying to force things before it's over but he collapses onto her, the pressure inside already softening. She runs her hands soothingly over his sweaty back, not wanting to belay her frustration at her lack of orgasm and ruin what he'd finally had the courage to come and ask for. She may not feel sated, but Daryl's murmuring wordlessly against her neck and his arms are sliding around her and holding her tight and everything inside of her heart has clicked into place.

He wants to live here, he tells her, but she hears the rest that goes unsaid. He wants to come home to her after he's been out on runs and wants to wake up with her and make their life together. He doesn't want to be out there and regret not acting on the love he's held inside for what feels like forever and Carol cradles his face in her hands and kisses him. It's gentle now, but still full of tenderness and when he pulls back to search her face she finds herself nodding, telling him she loves him too, that she wants this with him.

There's plenty of time for orgasms later, right now she revels in the feeling of Daryl's strong arms around her, of the love she's been so terrified to feel.


	2. And One Time She Did

_(...and one she did)_

 **6 – Partners**

In the three months they've been living together, Carol has lost count of the times they've had sex.

Not every day, neither of them are young enough for that, and there's too many pressing concerns that require their attention. They're both practical people, and sometimes that means a quick fuck in the shower and sometimes it's slow and sleepy when they're just waking up. She's learned quickly that while Daryl isn't an overly experienced lover, he knows enough about what he's doing to make sure she enjoys it.

After their first frenzied time on the couch he's shown himself to have much better stamina, but no matter the position or the amount of time they put to it, Carol can't get off.

She starts to think that maybe that's just how she is now. Even before, she struggles to really remember an orgasm, though she's sure they had happened occasionally. But now she's just too tense, just too unable to let go, just too aware of everything to really slide over that edge into oblivion.

That's fine, though. She enjoys sex, and she _loves_ Daryl, and the look on his face as he loses himself in her is more than enough to compensate. She's never felt more loved, more cherished, more beautiful. They are partners in every way, and she never would have guessed that being treated like an equal by the man who shares her bed would be such a turn on.

Sometimes Daryl looks at her with such a glint of determination in his eyes that she considers faking her release to please him. But Carol knows he'd see right through that, and it's not like she minds when he settles himself between her thighs and licks and sucks and strokes her like a man on a mission. Sure, the constant build with no payoff is one of the most frustrating things she's ever experienced but somewhere near the top of the crest Carol starts to wonder if _this_ is it and, oh, _yes_ if he just keeps his tongue right _there_ maybe she'll be able to...

The thoughts always get her, she wraps up in her own mind and the build of pressure just fizzles away and when she sighs and her thighs relax around his head, Daryl always knows the moment is lost.

She tried to talk about it exactly once, resulting in the single most awkward conversation of her life. Carol thinks she impressed upon him that it wasn't anything he did or didn't do, and far too many truths about her own attempts to seek it out had come from her lips. Somewhere between his stuttered offer to find more batteries next time he's out and the askance look he sometimes gives the nightstand Carol has decided that she's _definitely_ not the type of woman comfortable with bringing her vibrator into bed with her partner.

And if he occasionally gets it into his head to pleasure her with single-minded intent, she isn't about to tell him to stop.

It's more than just the physical relationship Carol finds herself cherishing. She and Daryl have always existed in a comfortable sort of ease with each other, have always appreciated silence, but nothing could have prepared her for how much she likes just _existing_ with him.

Her favorite moments of this new relationship are the unremarkable ones. The slight look of wonder on his face whenever she kisses him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing next to hers at night, afternoons spent curled up on the couch reading a book while he rests his head in her lap and catches up on the sleep he doesn't get out on the road.

They never talk about the past, there's no crying conversations about regret and loss and the things they've endured. Instead, they just try and forge forward in this world, together.

Contentment is so much better than euphoria, Carol can't help but tell herself.

She's folding laundry in the living room, enjoying the comforting patter of rain outside. It's not coming down hard enough to close her windows, just a light shower to go with the dreariness that dawned with that morning. Daryl's out somewhere, she's not quite sure where. He always tells her if he's leaving the walls, but otherwise they don't feel the need to keep constant tabs on each other. He's been back for three days and isn't scheduled to go back out with Aaron for another week, at least.

Carol doesn't enjoy when he's out recruiting. She misses his presence in their home and always has trouble sleeping, even when she gives in to silly things and pulls on one of his t-shirts or hugs his pillow to her face. He really believes in Alexandria though, really wants to help people still out there without hope and she would never dream of asking him to give that up just to avoid insomnia and worry. He's careful, and she has enough trust in his abilities not to insult him with worries that he'll get himself killed.

Someday he won't return to her, but Carol knows it won't be because of anything he does or doesn't do, knows that risk is a part of their lives. She can only hope that day isn't anytime soon.

The door opening chases away her melancholy thoughts, and Daryl is damp from the rain as he kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his jacket. He mutters something about Michonne being a pansy for letting a little bit of rain cut short what they were doing, and Carol smiles fondly at him, setting the last piece of folded laundry on the pile.

She stands, going to the kitchen and reaching for a mug to make him something warm to drink. It feels like a cuddle up and enjoy the rain sort of afternoon and Carol smiles at the sound of him approaching her. He doesn't lean against the counter or sit at the table though, and she's surprised a moment later when his arms wrap around her waist and she's pulled gently back against his surprisingly bare chest.

"Shirt was wet," is all the explanation he offers before burying his face into the side of her neck and kissing her skin.

Carol sets the mug on the counter, thoughts of warm drinks forgotten as she lets Daryl press his body against hers and nuzzle her affectionately. She knows his intentions aren't entirely pure, can feel the evidence of that growing against her backside, but there's something so _nice_ about being held in the kitchen as the rain falls.

His hands slide up under her shirt, palms pressing against her stomach and she laughs a little at the way he pulls her tighter against him, grinding into her ass with absolutely no subtlety.

"You sure it was _Michonne_ who called off for the afternoon?"

Daryl just grunts against her neck and turns her, finding her mouth for a kiss. He hasn't backed down on the amount of tongue he uses, but she's found that his eagerness is more arousing than she'd care to admit. He kisses her like the world is ending, and maybe that's true outside, but when she's in his arms, there's nothing else to worry about.

From there, it's easy to get lost in each other. There's nothing but long kisses and the sound of rain, even as they shed their clothes in a trail from the kitchen up to the bedroom.

He's on his back on the mattress, arms over his head and looking at her with such awe and gratefulness when Carol reaches between them and slides down onto his length. He fills her so well and as she settles into an easy rhythm she just smiles down at him with all the happiness she has.

It's perfect when it's like this. When they make love before he leaves on a run, there's always an edge of desperation to it. She loves the way he seems to hold himself back and try and stretch it out as long as possible, but she always has to close her eyes against the swell of fear that it could be the last time. And the sex right when he returns is always _fantastic_ , but when it's like this, when they're just two people in love and there's no danger on either side of things, that's when it's the best.

Daryl's hands come to her hips then, guiding her and thrusting up a little faster than the pace she'd set. Carol rolls her hips in response, tumbling forward onto her elbows, their chests pressed together. The angle is different, and Carol gasps as his cock hits all the right places inside her. His fingers are tight on her hips and the slow easy coupling they were having is forgotten in a series of grunts and moans. She's on top, but she's not in control and she presses her face to his shoulder and rides him in time with his thrusts.

He's grunting against her hair and she feels a hand leave her hips, forcing its way between them and finding her clit with a practiced ease he's never shown before. And then he's rubbing her as he thrusts up into her and the angle is _perfect_ and without a moment to over think it, Carol crashes over the edge into orgasm with a loud cry.

Daryl's hand stops immediately and he grips her hip tighter, thrusting up erratically a few times before letting go with the most obscene grunt Carol has ever heard. She's still shaking against him when he finally lets go, laying back on the bed in a heap with his hands up by his head again. She all but slides off of him, an exhausted boneless pile against his side and the sated heaviness in all of her limbs is the most decadently wonderful thing she's ever felt.

"Fuck," he breathes out after a while and a weary laugh is all Carol can manage in response. She feels amazing, every bit of stress gone from her body and she can't seem to shake the goofy smile on her face.

Of course it happens now, during a rainy afternoon fuck of absolutely no importance. He wasn't trying to get her off, no more than he always does, and she hadn't been chasing release with her eyes on the finish line.

Daryl's arm comes around her and she snuggles into his side, her eyes slipping closed with no effort. All of her tension is gone, and she feels nothing except absolute love for the man who's holding her.

Her partner.

For the rest of their lives.


End file.
